Underground
by purrina57
Summary: "The 34th District in the Catacombs is run by us—the 34th Specialists, or the TFS, as we call ourselves. It's all I know anymore. Every little side street, every name, every building: I know it all by heart. Nothing happens here that I don't know about. Which is why the news of the murders haunts me." Jace/Clary, split POV, futuristic mystery, gangs, thieves. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: New story! AH! I hope y'all enjoy it. Don't panic, those of you that read my other stories. I will still be updating Half Truths and Always and Forever. I just will be doing this story, too. Yes, I like to spread myself thin and have way too much to do! Gives me purpose! Anyway, a quick little summary for this story is that it's told between Jace's POV and Clary's. It's futuristic, but it isn't really sci-fi. There aren't any supernatural going-ons, which is odd for me to write, but there is a plot. So if you're just looking for dirty scenes, this might not be for you (: If you like plot, though, and you like character development (because that is what I just LOVE to write), then give this a shot please! (: Much thanks! (:**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

**_Jace_**

They say that the world used to be beautiful—up above—that it was filled with plants and animals and life. Everyone wants those days back, but not me. I never knew that era of the earth's long and violent history so why should I care? Why would I spend my time wishing for something else when I know it'll never happen?

I like the way things are now.

They're kind of shitty, yeah. But you can't tell me that life wasn't always fucked up, even when the sky was blue and there were rainbows and shit.

You can't go through life waiting and wishing. You got to make due with what's handed to you, and I've done a decent job of that, I'd say. Got me a right nice little club going. No one messes with us, and if they do, they get their skull bashed in and don't do it again.

The 34th District in the Catacombs is run by us—the 34th Specialists, or the TFS, as we call ourselves. It's my family now, since my real one is dead.

It's all I know anymore.

Every little side street and alley, every duct, every building, every name—I know it all, at least in the 34th District. Nothing happens here that I don't know about.

Which is why the news of a string of murders shocks the living shit out of me.

I stare at Alec as he explains, his mouth moving rapidly, his dark blues eyes darting coolly around the hazy bar we conduct business in.

"And, of course, they don't have a bloody clue who did it," Alec concludes. "The cops are as dim-witted as ever."

I nod once, leaning up, my elbows resting against the dented and abused metal table. "Do they at least have an estimate of how many murders?"

"Eight and counting," Alec replies. "Just a bunch of street rats—druggies and prostitutes."

"The people no one will miss," I murmur, a bitter taste on my tongue.

"Exactly." Alec takes a drag off his cigarette and says, "This isn't good, though, for our business. If people are getting murdered left and right down here, nobody wants to come for a visit because the cops are crawling all over the place."

"I know," I say.

"We're already feeling the strain. The SEG backed out of the deal we had going for the liquor."

I sigh and run a hand down my face tiredly. When I took this club over, I had no idea it would involve so much work. I was just obsessed with being the first twenty-two year old club leader. I never thought I'd have to do more than fight—which is all I've ever done.

"Why don't you get Izzy to go down and talk to Stephen?" I ask Alec. "She's charming enough to get him to reconsider."

"Are you suggesting we pimp out my sister?" Alec inquires, arching a brow.

I grin a bit at this. "There's no way she'd tolerate being pimped out, mate. I'm just talking about her batting her eyelashes once or twice and wearing a lot cut dress. That's all it'll take for Stephen."

Alec sighs in his weary way. He seems like an old man trapped in a twenty-three-year-old's body. "Fine. But I'm going with her—just in case something happens."

"You ought not worry about something happening to Izzy. She can hold her own in a fight," I reply, grinning larger now. I relax into the booth again, toss my arm over the back of it. "And you're not going. I need you to stick around. Send Max."

"He's a kid," Alec scoffs.

"He's eighteen, Alec. We were younger than that when we got involved in this thing," I remind him. "It's time you stop smothering him and let him do something, for Christ's sake."

Alec glowers at me. "He's my brother. It's my job to protect him."

"And it's your job to make him into a man, as well. How can he do that if you have him stuck in this shit heap, mopping up the bathroom?" I demand, arching my brows.

My best man fidgets a bit, his teeth grinding together. But he finally sighs and says, "Fine."

"Great," I reply, flashing a bright smile. I begin scooting out of the booth.

"Where are you going?" Alec asks sharply.

"None of your business," I say, grinning as I stand and stretch to the ceiling. "I'll be back later, Mother. Don't worry your pretty little head." I ruffle his dark hair.

He growls, "Piss off."

I just chuckle and begin sauntering to the door of the darkened pub.

"Hey, Jace?" I hear Alec call to me.

I turn and walk backwards, arching my brows at him in question. "Yeah?"

"What are we doing to do about these murders?"

"Nothing we can do, mate. Just pray to God the cops catch the sick bastard doing it," I reply with a shrug. "Keep your eyes and ears open."

Alec sighs and turns back to his beer. I hear him say, "Always do."

And then I'm off, stealing away into the Tunnels, where I grew up.

* * *

**_Clary_**

I slip into my window like an agile cat.

My sneakers don't make a sound as they touch down on the floorboards, but still, Aline bolts out of her cubby and flips on the light inside it.

"Where have you been?" she asks, scowling.

"No where," I reply softly, blinking against the dull golden glow.

"You've been off in the Tunnels, haven't you? Those places are dangerous. Look what I had to do! I had to put a bunch of bloody pillows under your covers so Imogen wouldn't know you weren't here. If she catches me, we'll both be in a fine mess," she complains.

I simply take my shoes off carefully and pad over to my tiny bed where it is cramped into its little wall cubby, my closet space on either side of it, above and below it, too. Our space is limited, and the builders made as much use of it as they could. Everything has a place, has a drawer, has a built-in compartment. Our lives are made of order in this way.

"I'm sorry," I tell Aline.

She keeps on. "You'll be tossed out onto the street if Imogen catches you. What will you do then? She already hates you. She's just looking for an excuse, you know."

"I know," I say meekly, climbing into my bed. I look up at the ceiling of the cubby and find my drawings, safely hidden from Imogen's view when she inspects our room. I painted them—the pictures. I saved and stole until I had eight vibrant colors, and I used them all up to depict my view of what the world used to look like—above us.

Blue sky. White clouds. Green grass and trees. Golden sun. Purple flowers.

That's what they say it was like. I go to sleep every night looking up at the pictures, praying that God just let me dream about it.

I never do.

"Clary, why do you put yourself in such danger? The Tunnels are for crooks and thieves."

"Not all of them are crooks and thieves," I say, dreamily, as a flash of golden eyes and white teeth blink behind my eyelids.

"You've just got a starry-eyed crush on that Jace fellow, is all. But he's the biggest crook and thief of them all—you said yourself he's involved in that gang. Those gangs are always causing trouble, Clary. You'll get yourself pinched one of these days—or worse. I heard there were a few murders down in the Tunnels—ten or twelve of them. What if that were you?" Aline shoves her glasses up the bridge of her twitching nose. She blinks rapidly behind the thick lenses. "Dangerous place and dangerous company. And you're such a quiet thing. It's weird and I don't understand it."

"Jace was here when I first came to the orphanage," I whisper, my hand going up and tracing the limbs of one of my painted trees. "He took care of me, watched over me—he still does."

Aline scoffs. "He's sick in the head. I heard he beat a man nearly to death last week."

My fingers move without hesitation over the papers for I've memorized each line and leaf and detail. "He has a good heart."

"Hmph," Aline replies. She gets back into her own cubby and turns off the light, plunging our room into darkness save for the blue light drifting in from the window.

It's silent for a moment between us, and the sounds of shouts and music and footsteps from the city below us fill the air in a mind-numbingly comforting way.

"I still think he's stark raving loony," Aline announces, but I don't respond. I just smile and fall asleep, the memory of my paintings stamped behind my eyelids but missing from my dreams.

* * *

**Not much yet, but I'm updating again soon. As for their accents, they kind of have a mixture of accents. I like to think they are a big hodge-podge of American, English, and Australian. If you're interested in seeing what I imagine my characters and setting to look like, see my bio thingie (: I'm posting links here in a minute (: Please review and let me know what your thoughts are so far! I know it's kind of early in the game to tell, but I'd appreciate any kind of input.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey, y'all! (: So, I just wanted to say that not every chapter will be split up into different POVs. Like this chapter is just told in Clary's POV. Some chapters will just be told in Jace's POV, and so forth. Anyway, enjoy! And please, please, PLEASE review. They make my day. Seriously. If you don't know already, I respond to everyone! And I don't bite! And if you don't think you have anything to say, even a simple "like it so far" or "this totally sucks" is great! Lets me know where I stand (:**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

**_Clary_**

"CLARISSA FRAY."

I turn towards the sound of my name timidly, seeing Imogen standing there at the doorway of the cafeteria, her arms crossed and her foot tapping impatiently.

I glance helplessly at Aline, whom holds her lunch tray in her hands, and she shrugs. "I don't know," is her response.

I sigh and sit my own tray down on the long metal table Aline and I sit at everyday, and I move carefully towards Imogen. When I come before her, her gray eyes rake me up and down, taking stock of my slightly ratty uniform. "Your tie needs to be tighter," she orders.

I fix it as she asks.

"And you need to sew up the hem of your skirt," she snaps, jerking her bony chin towards the problem area. A long dark thread dangles from the edge of my fraying plaid skirt.

"Yes, ma'am," I chime.

Imogen eyes me with pursed lips, the lines in the corners of her mouth becoming very defined. Then, rather begrudgingly, she says, "You have a visitor."

I perk up, my heart pounding at the thought. "A visitor?" I squeak.

She nods. "Yes. Come along." She turns sharply on her shoe and begins the trek through the orphanage, leading me out of the bustling cafeteria. I follow hot on her heels, bouncing with each step because only one person would be visiting me.

And it must be big if he's visiting me the proper way, rather than tapping on my window in the dead of night.

Imogen leads me down the hall to the front lobby of the building, and there he is, his hands shoved into his light jeans, his chin tucked into the collar of his zipped up fleece, fighting off the cold.

He glances over at us when we approach, and his golden eyes crinkle in a smile.

It's been quite some time since I've seen him, a few weeks now, and I can't help but run over to him, tossing my arms around his neck and hugging myself to his tall, lanky but deceptively lean and muscular frame.

"Hey," he chuckles, his arms going around me tightly, his smell engulfing me. He smells like boy, but in a good way.

"I've missed you," I tell him quietly.

"I've missed you, too, love," he replies and lets me go, glancing back over to Imogen as she stands stiffly by the door, her face set in a glower. "I'll have her back soon."

"You'd better. Curfew for the kids is at ten," Imogen snaps.

Jace salutes her sarcastically. "Aye, aye."

Her jaw tightens, her lips curling, but he's already turning away from her, his arm tossing carelessly over my thin shoulders. "Ready to bust out of here?"

I nod with a tiny smile.

Jace's own smile is dazzling. "Brilliant. Let's go then." He draws me out of the orphanage, into the huge cavern of the 34th District. The packed stone and dirt forms one gigantic bubble in which the district resides, and the busy voices of the city echo off the dome, making a never ending murmur attack your ears. The lights of the city are blue and gold and white, always flashing neon, and my eyes sting with it.

"Where to?" Jace inquires of me, his hand grabbing mine like a reflex. I notice how large it is, engulfing mine. It's warm, too. And a little rough. I think I like that.

"I don't know," I reply, shrugging. I look over at him and give a tiny smile. "Wherever you'd like."

"Wherever I'd like?" he repeats, arching his brows. He purses his lips and scans the people as they drift past us, always on alert. "That could be a rather dangerous proposition." He tilts his head, thinking for a moment, before he nods and says, "Come on, then. I know just where we'll go," as if he didn't already have it planned out.

* * *

We sit on the roof of the old Windmill Hotel, eating sandwiches Jace actually paid for. Our legs dangle over the ledge of the roof, over a ten-story drop, but neither of us have a fear of heights.

My eyes wander over the city and its thrumming life. Everywhere I look there are vendors peddling their wares, people scurrying to jobs, kids playing in the street, steam rising from the potholes, lights flickering on signs. It's beautiful and dirty and all I've ever known, but I still wish for more. I wish that when I tilt my head up that I don't see just rock—I see sky.

I tell Jace this now.

He shrugs and then speaks with his mouth full. "Don't care much about the sky, myself. They say it's piss yellow now. Why'd I want to see that? 'Sides, this is what we got. Might as well enjoy it."

I frown a bit, take a small nibble of my sandwich. "I do enjoy this, too. I suppose. I just wonder what it was like."  
Jace shrugs again, uninterested, so I change the subject.

I dig around in my blazer pocket until I find what I'm looking for, what I've been carrying on my person since last week so I wouldn't lose it. "Here," I murmur, a little excitedly, as I hold my hand out to Jace, the prize clenched inside my fist.

Jace chokes down the rest of his food, scrubs his hands on his jeans roughly, and then opens his palm beneath mine, letting me drop the small coin into it. He immediately holds it up, squinting one eye and examining it. "From the 23rd District!" he cries. "How'd you find it?"

"There's an old man on Maple Street that was bragging around it," I begin softly but with a small, devious smile on my lips—the smile Jace taught me.

He glances over at me, his eyes narrow. "You pinched it, didn't you?"

"Maybe."

"Clary, you ought not do such things. What if you get caught?"

"I won't get caught."

"What if you do?"

"But I won't. You taught me not to."

"Excellent strategy, bringing my teaching skills into the mix. I can't argue with that without putting my own self down," he sighs, shaking his head.

"I thought you'd like it," I say, tucking my hands under my legs. I regard him quietly. "Do you not fancy the coin?"

"No, I fancy it quite a lot," he replies, gazing down at it before tucking it into his pocket safely and glancing over at me, his eyebrows arched. "I just worry 'bout you, is all."

"No need in doing that. You taught me how to take care of myself," I whisper, a little shyly.

Jace smiles and rests his forehead against mine, briefly, and his beautiful gold eyes take my breath for a moment. I wonder if my own eyes have the same effect on him, but they never seem to. He's better at hiding his emotions, though, than I am. He's a seasoned pro by now, scurrying in the Tunnels and learning all the little cons since he was a baby, practically.

I want to be just like him, of course.

When Jace pulls away from me, I resist the urge to sigh. He doesn't notice, though, as he glances out at the city and says, "There's been some things going on down in the Tunnels."

"What things?" I inquire, cocking my head.

"Dangerous things. I don't want you running around down there unless I'm with you, all right?"

I feel my brow crease. "The Tunnels are always filled with dangerous things. What's more dangerous now?"

Jace inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring for a moment. I can see him weighing whether he wants to tell me or not.

I'm a little miffed as I say, "I'm not a baby, Jace. I'm fifteen. You can tell me things."

"I know that," he replies in a way that tells me he knows nothing of the sort. He still looks at me and sees the five-year-old girl he first met, I'm sure of it.

"It's just…I don't want you worrying, is all."

"I won't."

"Fine." He blows out a sigh and says, "There's been some murders."

"So Aline was right," I murmur.

"Aline has her nose stuck in everyone's business," Jace shots back blandly, his distaste for my roommate obvious. "Anyway, there's been some murders, and I don't want you lolly-gagging around and getting yourself killed, got it?"

I nod slowly, quietly, and the air between us grows silent with thought. The city below remains loud and unrelenting, always moving, never stopping, no matter what happens in the Tunnels because what happens in the Tunnels is of hardly any important to the city people.

"Did you know any of the people who died?" I whisper.

Jace shakes his head and digs around his coat pocket for a pack of cigarettes. "Nah. But who knows. I might eventually know a victim. This murder seems to be on quite the tear. Anyway, I just wanted you to be safe. No going down unless I'm with you or Alec is."

"Okay."

"Promise me, Clary."

"I promise," I say obediently but a little agitated, nonetheless. He thinks I'm a child. It's so obvious in his tone.

My own irritation is hard to spot. Most people think I'm ignorant because I'm quiet and rather timid. But Jace knows me better than anyone, and he hears the quiver of anger in my voice.

So with a small sigh, he offers me a cigarette, a symbol of peace. I take it, a symbol of acceptance.

"Just looking out for my favorite girl," he explains.

I don't respond, just let him light my smoke.

* * *

**Thoughts on Jace and Clary's relationship so far? (: Let me know! (:**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: HEY, Y'ALL! I'm running behind on something, so short Author's Note. I will read your reviews and respond to them in a few hours, as well as update again! SUPER excited to get to see what y'all think! Please keep those reviews coming!  
OH, and one thing. Someone brought it to my attention that there is a considerable age gap between Jace and Clary (Jace is 22, Clary is 15). Clary is soon turning 16, though. AND they won't be having a romantic relationship anytime soon! So don't panic and get grossed out, please! (:**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

**_Jace_**

"Jace! Where the hell have you been?"

My eyes widen slowly as I clear the door of the pub, Izzy already standing before me in the smoke-hazed room, her hands on her slim hips, her foot tapping rapidly.

"What's it to you?" I inquire, brushing past her. Its later in the evening now and the bar is filled up with regulars, each of them smoking and drinking, talking and laughing, listening to the old music that plays on the fuzzy-sounding jukebox in the corner.

I head towards our table in the back. I think I already see Alec's dark head among the masses. I can always count on him to be here.

"I'd like to discus this plan of yours," she growls irritably. Izzy is always doing something irritably, I've found. "This plan that you made without asking me."

I jerk to a halt, and she almost rams into my back. Carefully, I spin towards her, looking down at her. I lean in, close enough that I can see the dark smudges of makeup under her eyes, and I say, calmly but with a note of warning underneath, "Izzy, don't think for a moment that your permission is needed by me. This is my club now, and if you don't like it, there's the door."

Izzy's face remains etched into aggravated lines for a whole of two seconds before she sees I'm not playing with her, that I won't back down from my challenge. Her rebellion fades a bit and she says, much more subdued, "I just wanted to discuss it with you."

"Then discuss away," I reply, nodding once.

Izzy swallows, her eyes darting briefly away from mine. "I…I just don't like Stephen."

"I don't expect you to have to a shag with him—just bat those pretty lashes of yours a few time and charm him like you have nearly every other man in this pub. Simple."

"Okay," she says.

"Okay," I repeat. Then I arch my brows. "That all?"

"Just didn't like you signing me up for something without asking, is all," she mutters, rolling her eyes around the floor.

"And I didn't like your tone, so next time check it first, yeah?" I ask, lowly but measured.

Izzy nods, still not meeting my eyes. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. Just don't do it again," I say and with that, I walk around the bar towards my table.

Alec, Simon, Jordan, and Max are there, and they all greet me as I ease down in my usual spot. They're talking about District Football, and the conversation, as usual, is getting heated.

I just grin a little and shake my head at them before ordering a beer from Kaelie.

Alec's eyes are on me, so I glance over at him, arch an eyebrow. "I sense by the daggers you're shooting me that there's something on your mind."

He sighs.

"Out with it," I order lightly.

Alec shifts a bit in his seat and leans closer to me, as to not be overheard by the rest of our chattering table. "You were out with that kid again, weren't you?"

"So what if I was?" I ask back.

"Jace, she's a distraction."

"Oh, come off it! I haven't even seen her in weeks, Alec. What else to you expect me to do? She's like my bloody sister. Do you think I'd just abandon her?"

Alec's brows pull low over his intent eyes. "Your relationship is just so public. Anyone that wants to get to you will just go right after her, you know."

"I'd like to see someone touch her. I'd blow their fucking brains out," I remark, smiling graciously as Kaelie as she appears with my beer. I notice the intentional way she leans down to give it to me, showing her ample cleavage. "Thanks, love," I say, winking at her.

"Anytime," she replies, smiling at me before spinning on her heel and walking her slow, sinfully swinging walk back to the bar. I watch her as she goes.

"Jace," Alec says irritably, reminding me eerily of his sister with that tone.

I drag my eyes from Kaelie's backside and look over at him. "Relax, mate. No one's stupid enough to go after Clary."

"That wasn't the point," Alec mutters.

"Then what was your point, exactly?" I ask, my good humor suddenly vanishing in my voice. I cock my head at Alec a bit, in challenge. "If you want to tell me something, come out with it, then. Don't be a little bitch that's too afraid to be honest."

Alec huffs once. "You just shouldn't…spend so much time with her."

"Oh, I _shouldn't,_ huh?" My eyebrows arch easily, belying my internal rage. "Listen, mate, I don't tell you what to do with your own personal relationships. I'd appreciate if you'd do the same for me."

"I'm just looking out for you," he argues quietly.

"I can look after myself, thank you. I didn't become head of this club for no reason. I think you forget that sometimes."

"No! That's not it—"

"Clary's like my family. You know how important family is, and you know how important trust is, too. I trust that kid with my life, almost. I've practically raised her. I'm all she's got. I held her when she would wake up with nightmares, when she'd cry missing her folks. I can't just leave her."

Alec shifts uncomfortably. "I'm not saying you should—"

I lean in close to him, my voice soft but strong. "The orphanage is a shit place to grow up. She might as well be living down here in the Tunnels for all the care she gets. I don't rightly expect you to understand, being from the 16th District and all—"

"Oh, come off it," Alec announces with a groan, shaking his head. "Won't you ever let it go that I don't come from here?"

"It's not a matter of where you're from geographically. Besides, it's good you and your siblings had nice parents and a nice childhood. I don't begrudge you that. I'm just trying to—"

"Jace Wayland!"

I stop and glance over my shoulder, wrinkling my nose when I see Magnus Bane sauntering up to me, standing out amongst the scruffy crowds of men in his glittery pants and feather boa. He doesn't seem to notice the strange looks he gets as he confidently strolls into our place of business.

"What do you want?" I ask dully.

"Don't sound so happy to see me, darling. You're embarrassing yourself," he says, dropping a flashy wink. And then, like a light switch, he turns serious. His voice drops and he bends down towards me, his jaw tight. His yellow-contact eyes flicker to and fro, and if I didn't know him better, I'd think him nervous. He whispers, "I need to talk to you. Privately."

"What about?" I question him, my eyes narrowing.

Finally, Magnus's darting gaze meets mine, and his face is as grim as I've ever seen it before in the sixteen years I've known him. "I need to talk to you about the murders."

* * *

**_Clary_**

I stroll to my room with my hands shoved deep in my fleece-lined pockets. It's always cold in the Underground, no matter how high they try to turn the heat. So coats are hot commodities, and the one I wear now was given to me by Jace on my fourteenth birthday, almost two years ago now.

I press my nose into the collar of it now as I walk, trying to keep warm as I push open my room door with the toe of my boot. It swings open and I shuffle in.

Aline is at the window, staring out at the fire escape and the city beyond, a thick book in her hand. She glares as soon as I'm inside. "Been out with that hooligan again?"

I ignore her, whistling a soft tune under my breath. I avoid conflict at all costs, even insignificant arguments with my roommate. I'm not good at fighting. I rely more on my small size and quiet voice, at my ability to blend in and go unnoticed.

Unfortunately, it's hard to go unnoticed in a ten by ten room.

"Did he tell you 'bout those murders? In the Tunnels? Did he know any of the people that got killed?" she asks, curious despite herself. Aline is insatiable when it comes to her desire for knowledge of any kind, even if it is gossip or information that doesn't relate to her at all.

She's never been in the Tunnels.

One look at her white sneakers and clean fingernails and pocket protector, and I know it for a fact.

"He told me about them a lil'," I admit, pulling off my coat. "He didn't know much about them, though. Just told me not to go poking 'round down there without him."

"Isn't that admirable," she drawls sarcastically, shoving her thick glasses up her nose and blinking owlishly at me. "You've got a crush on him, don't you?"

The top of my shoe scrubs the floor, and I almost trip—something I haven't done since I was six or seven. I catch myself on my bed cubby and feel heat touch my cheeks. "No, of course not."

"He is handsome," Aline muses, pursing her lips in a scholarly way. "He's got a nice build, too. If he'd let that infernal buzz cut grow out, I'd bet he'd be right attractive."

"He used to have long hair," I say, before I can stop myself. I climb into my bed, to hide my face. "It was curly—golden and shaggy. He still lets it grow out sometimes. He just recently got it cut again, though—says it's too much of a bother when he's getting into things, with it hanging in his eyes and such."

"Hmph," Aline replies.

I look up at my cubby ceiling, at my paintings. There's one in the far right corner, one that I don't look at as much as the landscapes because this one I know by heart.

Jace, a smile on his face, his head turned towards the left. I sketched it when he was laughing with Alec about something, a few years back. His hair was still a little longer then, just a bit, especially on top, and it was warm gold, the same shade as his eyes as they crinkled in that beautiful smile of his. I'd gone back later and colored it, shaded it better, and it almost looks like him.

I captured his hands the best, though.

Long, skinny fingers, large knuckles, big palms. Strong hands. Hands that have held me many nights, to calm me.

Those I dream about often.

* * *

**THOUGHTS (: **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Okay! A little clearing up on Jace and Clary's relationship. He views her as a sister, basically. She, on the other hand, is obviously feeling a little crush towards him. But she doesn't even truly understand what it is she's feeling for him. Clary's very naive in this story when it comes to those kinds of things, especially at first. She's almost 16 (she'll turn in the next few chapters), but she's had her head in the clouds for her whole life up until this point, where she's finally starting to come into her own a bit and want to assert herself in a way. But there's a reason for her being a very dreamy character. It's not some weird story where Clary is all innocent and sweet just so she can be corrupted by Jace. That's not it at all. There's a reason she's the way she is, not just for a romantic plot line. **

**Will there be a romance between them? You'll have to wait and see. There will be a little bit of romantic tension between the two of them, but this story (especially in the first part) is going to mainly focus on the over-all plot, which is the murder mystery. Romantic dealings are going to take a backseat to that, even more so than in Half Truths. Character development will be a major key in the story, as well, and for the first thirty or so chapters, I'd guess, you'll see all kinds of relationships between characters, not just Jace and Clary's.**

**Anyway, enjoy! If this didn't clear anything up for you, ask me a question about it! In fact, if you have a question about ANYTHING please, PLEASE, ask away! I love hearing questions! **

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**_Jace_**

"So what is it?" I ask when we're safely tucked away in the back room. It's technically an office, but no one ever uses it. The smell of old cigars and must hangs heavier in here than the rest of the pub. It's a tiny space, with an old desk crammed into it, hundreds of yellowing papers littering the top of it.

Magnus stands out like a sore thumb. "I'd appreciate a nicer tone. You _are_ speaking to one of the most beloved and well-connected Tunnelers about."

"I won't argue with your latter point, at the very least."

Magnus gives me a dull look. "I can always take my information elsewhere."

"Why are you willing to give me information in the first place? I was under the impression that you've taken a strong dislike to me."

"I've known you since you were a baby, practically—toddling around, cutting teeth, picking people's pockets when you were still too tiny to even reach them properly. Call it nostalgia."

"It couldn't possibly have anything to do with the rumors going about that we have extra money, could it?" I narrow my eyes and cross my arms over my chest.

"Possibly," Magnus allows. "I won't lie to you and say I'm not interested in the money. But I'm not lying, either, when I say we have a lot of problems down here in the Tunnels but senseless murders aren't one of them—or they didn't used to be. Someone got killed, they deserved it or at the very least got in with the wrong person, stepped on the wrong toes. One thing we can't have is some psychopath running amuck, murdering left and right. A horribly cliché yet appropriate term for this would be 'bad for business.'"

"Oh, yes, the voodoo business. How could we go on without it?"

Magnus gives me a flat look. "My point, if you'd shut up long enough for me to get it across, is that the Tunnelers need to stick together. I trust your little gang over most others—although that isn't saying much. I thought perhaps, for the right price, I'd let you know what I know."

"What do you know? Something curious pop up in the crystal ball?"

"The wonderful thing about being me is that I don't have to deal with insulting bastards," Magnus says, arching an eyebrow slowly.

"There's the door. Don't let it hit your rear on the way out," I say, motioning. "Have fun finding someone else to pay you for your made-up rubbish."

Magnus's jaw tightens, his eyes catching fire. "Made-up rubbish, hm? If it was made-up, how do I know there is a coin in your pocket? From the 23rd District? It's in your left pocket, to be exact. Given to you by a very special someone."

My blood runs cold and hot at the same time, rage prickling the hairs at my neck, and I'm suddenly directly in front of the glitter-drenched man. I see red, but my voice is a low, dangerously calm thrum as I say, "I know I've known you practically my whole life. I know you're a decent bloke. And you know you're welcome here. But all that can change in the blink of an eye." I shrug casually. "Just say the word."

Magnus stares at me for a long, quiet moment, his eyes searching mine out and finding the truth written on my face, as plain as day. Then he cracks a little smile and finds himself a cigarette. "My, my. I see you've learned a thing or two about intimidation. Well done."

"Thank you," I reply, nodding once.

"Well, just for the goosebumps you've raised on my arms, I'll tell you what I know—free of charge."

"How generous of you."

"There was a witness," he says coolly, taking a drag off his cigarette. "To the last murder."

"And just how do you know this?" I inquire, tilting my head to the side.

"The how isn't important."

"I'd venture it is."

"The how will cost you—I'm not that generous," he replies, giving a faint grin before going on. "Anyway, the woman that saw it is a little loony. But she swears up and down that she saw the murderer."

"Why are you telling me this, out of all the people in the Tunnels?"

"Because of your little speech just a few seconds ago." Magnus leans towards me a bit. "You're hot-headed and bold. Arrogant because you're too young to know any better. You're the best leader the TFS has had in years. You can get this whole mess cleaned up quickly and less dramatically than the blundering cops. The faster this gets taken care of, the faster business goes back up. And business is important to us down here. You know that."

"So you're trying to get me to solve some sort of murder mystery now?"

"I'm simply pointing you in the right direction," he replies. "We'll see if you can actually solve it."

"It shouldn't be that much of a problem," I say and then give a small shrug and smile. "I'm smart as fuck."

"And there is that blind arrogance in full display. Oh, to be young again." Magnus suddenly produces a business card between his long brown fingers. He hands it over to me. "Go to that address. Ask for Madame Dorothea."

"Madame Dorothea?" I demand, my brows arching.

"Yes, _that_ Madame Dorothea," he murmurs around a smirk, answering my unasked question. But then he sobers, surprises me by clasping a hand on my shoulder and saying, "Good luck, Jace. And be careful. This murderer…well, he could be any one of us."

* * *

**_Clary_**

I'm sitting on the roof of the orphanage, sketching in my journal. I like spending time up here, always alone. I spy on the city from my vantage point, like a gargoyle—an observer of life only—never living it, just watching it unfold.

You see all kinds of strange things when people don't know you're watching. I've seen some disturbing things, some illegal things, and occasionally, I'll a good thing—a random act of kindness that fills my heart with warmth and makes me wonder if this city isn't as cold as it always feels.

Today, I draw a picture of the new soda advertisement flashing at me from above the Mart. I make a perfect replica of it, but instead of filling in the surrounding space with the buildings and steam and stalagmites of the dome encroaching on the sign, I draw flowers, trees, bushes—all the things I've seen pictures of in Old Books. Soon, the sign is something beautiful. Living. Natural.

I'm so caught up in getting the shading right that I don't hear the crunch of gravel warning me of another's approach until my name is called.

I glance up, disoriented, a bit lost in my own world. I blink twice before seeing Sebastian and his ice-blond hair and pressed smile.

"Hey, Clary," he says, a certain amount of confidence in his voice.

"Hi," I whisper back, shy because I can't talk to people I haven't known for ages. I get tongue-twisted and sweaty. But even more so with Sebastian. There's something about his eyes—they're too dark. Black. Endless, but not in a good way.

"What're you doing up here?"

"Drawing," I murmur, looking back down at my work, trying to hide it with my arm.

But Sebastian is sitting down beside me, forcibly removing my arm so he can see it. "Huh. Flowers on the billboard. That's weird. I don't understand it, really."

I don't try to explain it to him. I just stay silent.

"You come up here a lot, don't you?" he inquires, sitting back, resting against the small wall surrounding the roof.

"Yes," I say meekly.

"I've seen you steal away when you think no one's looking. Don't worry. I won't tell Imogen."

His promise doesn't sound so comforting, but I nod anyway. "Thank you," I manage.

"I've been watching you a while now, Clary." He's not at all bashful about this fact. I suppose he doesn't find me much of an intimidating presence, so why would he be shy about it? "You're cute. More so lately. Been doing something different with your hair?"

"No," I say, reaching my to touch a few strands of my frizzy red hair timidly.

Sebastian chuckles. "Not much for conversation, are you?"

I'm silent, confirming his words.

He scoots closer. "That's quite all right with me, just so you know. I'd much rather do a lot of things than talk, too."

I don't know why, but my skin is crawling with his nearness. I don't understand his words or that strange lilting tone in his voice.

But I do understand I don't like it, so I stand up quickly.

"Going to bed," I say rapidly, holding my sketchbook to my chest and jerkily walking away, feeling his eyes watch me all the way to the stairwell door, until it closes behind me. And I can breathe again.

* * *

"Did Sebastian talk to you?" Aline asks, sitting by the fire escape, brushing her hair. Fifty strokes every night—that's what she does. She never misses it.

"Yes," I murmur, my eyes closed as I cower in my cubby. I replay Sebastian's conversation from earlier, and I still don't understand it. He had looked at me so funny, talked to me so funny. I didn't like it. Not one bit.

"He's got a crush on you," Aline mumbles.

Oh. Was that what that was? Was that what it meant?

"A crush," I say, the word strange on my lips. I don't think I've ever said it aloud. Aline likes to say it, but it's never held much importance to me.

"Yeah, like what you have on that hoodlum Jace."

"He's not a hoodlum," I whisper. "And I don't have a crush on him, Aline."

"Yes, you do. You get excited about every little thing he does. If he gives you a stolen apple that's already got a bite out of it, you get bent out of shape."

"Is that what a crush means, then?"

"How do you not know what a crush means?" she demands.

"I just don't. Never thought about it, really."

I hear her heavy sigh. "A crush is when you think about someone a lot. A lot, a lot. And…and you want to kiss them. And you like a lot of things about them."

"Kiss them?" I ask, my eyes opening to find my landscapes. But my gaze drifts over to the picture of Jace in the corner. I look at his lips in the drawing. I put a lot of detail into them. Imagining what it'd be like to press my lips to his, my fingers go up to touch my chapped mouth.

"Yeah. Don't you want to kiss Jace?"

"I don't know." My cheeks are hot just thinking about it.

"Clary, you're almost sixteen. Haven't you ever thought about these things?"

"No. Haven't the time."

"You don't _do_ anything to take up your time," she announces slowly, as if I'm dim-witted.

"Do, too," I say, but my voice lacks any passion.

We grow silent for a moment, the kind of silence filled with thoughts and ponderings.

Then, I whisper, "Have you ever kissed a boy, Aline?"

She's hesitant before answering. "No."

"Do you want to?"

A longer pause than before this time. "Yes."

My eyes are still on Jace's picture. I think I'd like to kiss him, too. In fact, I think I'd like it very much. I wonder if he would let me kiss him, what he'd do if the next time he put his forehead against mine I just tilted my head a bit—and bam! Our lips are touching.

The thought sends a rush of pleasant warmth through my body, and I like this feeling.

"Maybe you'll get to kiss a boy soon, then," I say, letting my eyes drift shut.

Aline doesn't respond, not for a long time, until, almost as I'm asleep, I hear her say, "Not if Sebastian likes you."

* * *

**So. My question for y'all is do y'all find their speech patterns a bit odd? I'm trying to make them kind of a big mix of all sorts of things. I try to incorporate sayings from all over the world. Let me know how I'm doing.**

**One more question: Do y'all feel a difference in tone between Jace and Clary's POVs. I'm trying to get a totally different vibe from each of them, Jace's being more playful yet tense and cocky and grittier while Clary's is more abstract and dazed and innocent. I want their "voices" to suit their personalities. Obviously, I write the way I write, and you're going to see similarities. I'm just curious if y'all think I've at least slightly succeeded in setting the voices apart. Be brutally honest! (: I'm asking for y'all's help on this one.**

**One more thing...I posted a picture of who I imagined Clary to be on my bio thingie. I changed my mind. Disregard that picture. I really don't have a set actress in my mind for Clary, so just imagine whoever you want! (: (These kinds of things bother me unless I address them). (:**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey, y'all wonderful people! So, just a little background that you will eventually get (but I don't want y'all to be confused in the meantime), the Underground is made up of Districts. Each District is like one massive city, bigger than any cities we have now, but smaller than a state or country, nonetheless. **

** Anyway, there are Tunnels connecting all the Districts together. These Tunnels are basically like a metro system, all running underneath the huge caverns the Districts are within. In the Tunnels, there are small cities, too, made up of side streets branching off the Main Tunnel (the train tracks, basically). **

**The people in the Tunnels (called Tunnelers) are usually looked down upon because they are "lower" class. Jace's little gang, along with all the other Tunnel gangs, are kind of like miniature mafias. Their biggest source of income, however, isn't running booze or guns. It's food rations. **

**Because the metro often is carrying food to the Districts, and it's a fairly hot commodity considering the people rely on the government for food. They can't grow their own stuff or go out and hunt, so they only have what they are given. Jace and others like him steal the food shipments and sell them to the highest bidders when the District vendors get desperate. Some District vendors, too, have deals with gangs like Jace's so the vendors get the food rations cheaper than buying directly from the government, basically. **

**The government is called the Clave in this story, by the way.**

**Hope that begins to clear things up! (:**

**Anyway, I'll be updating one more tonight! (:**

* * *

Chapter Five

**_Jace_**

"And that's why," I conclude grandly, my voice upbeat, shaking out my sore fist. "You don't steal from us." Another punch lands sharply in his ribs, and I feel a few give way beneath my knuckles, snapping like pretzels.

The man groans in agony and slumps forward; sliding down the brick wall I tossed him up against a few minutes previous.

"You know," I say, pursing my lips. "I might be willing to forgive and forget what you've done—let bygones be bygones and all that jolly stuff. But only after you've reimbursed us—in full. _Plus_ interest."

"I didn't know about it!" the man exclaims, exasperated as he keeps easing down to the ground. "I swear to God. I just heard about it. I didn't know they were going to steal that shipment! It's out of my hands!"

"Now, see. I don't believe you." I sigh. "Which is bad for you, honestly. I don't take kindly to be lied to—'specially to my face. That's just cowardly."

"Please," he moans, hiding his bloodied face in his hands. "Please just leave me _alone_."

"Can't do that, mate. You know I can't—not until I get what I want." I look at the motionless man, who has fallen to a heap of dirty coats in the littered alleyway. "I see you're going to need a little more persuasion. I don't kick a dog while he's down, so up you go." He doesn't move, so I let out a gust of air and grab the front of his jacket, hauling him to his feet. "Up, up."

He moans when I jostle him.

And then I jerk my knee up, catching him in the gut. He cries out, so I do it again and again until he's slipping down to the ground once more.

"Poor bastard can't stand on his feet," I say, looking over to Alec and shaking my head. "Get up, you sack of shit." I yank him upright yet again, press him back to the wall for leverage, and then let my fist crack across his jaw.

He's not even fighting back anymore, and it's not nearly as enjoyable. A fight is fun—two people duking it out, letting go of all their rage and energy. A fight is equal. This is just a beating, though, now, and my heartbeat has long since slowed, the live wire buzz in my body fading.

I sigh, disappointed by the lack of response in the man. He's just moaning shallowly, his face swollen and bloody. A few teeth are missing.

I've only got a little cut on my cheek, myself, from where he got in one good punch. It's not nearly enough. I like getting black eyes and gnarly gashes, things that hurt and scar—not only so people can see I've been in a scrap or two but for my own enjoyment, as well. I like the pain. Makes me know I'm alive and kicking.

"Well, this is just pathetic," I announce, letting go of the man's coat. He immediately puddles to the ground, limp and groaning. "I'd let you go, but I can't do that, either. Got a reputation to uphold, you know. So I tell you what. You go get your friends in the Tunnel Street Gang to either give me those food rations back _or_ they can give me all that money I would have earned selling the rations in the District in the first place. Either way, they'll pay interest. And if not, I'm going to get very upset. Probably have to start killing people—and I don't rightly enjoy that. Don't make me do that, mate."

The man peeps up at me through greasy black bangs. "I can't! I can't get them to do that! I'm on the lower rungs of the ladder! They don't listen to me!"

"They'd better. Or else you're getting it first." I point at him, squinting one eye. And then I grin. "I'm sure you'll find a way to get their attention. I have confidence in you… actually, I have an idea myself. Alec, give me a knife, will you?"

Alec, who has quietly watched out for cops in the mouth of the alley, meanders over, handing me his best knife.

I flick open the blade and squat down in front of the man. "All right. I can take an ear or a finger. What'd you rather?"

The man is suddenly scurrying back like a rat, pressing himself to the wall in attempt to get away, to put as much space between us as possible. He moves surprisingly quick for a man with a few broken ribs, a shattered jaw and nose. "No, no," he stutters. "No, please."

"This will help you in the long run," I tell him, nodding. "Imagine it—you walking into their little pub with your finger missing, squirting out blood. What a good show! They'll listen to you right quick."

"No! Please, no!"

"Look, I've already told you want you need to do. You don't seem to have much faith in yourself, so this is the other option," I reply, tilting the blade back and forth, eyeing him curiously.

"I'll find a way to get their attention!" he bursts. "Without…without that!"

"All right then." I beam and stand up swiftly, stowing the knife in my pocket. "Brilliant. I do wish you luck, mate."

He's folded in on himself now, breathing harshly, so I just shake my head and back out of the alley, strutting down the street, allowing Alec to fall into step beside me.

"You think they'll give the rations back?" he asks quietly.

"Not hardly," I reply, a little gleeful. "We'll most likely have to show up to that little shit heap of a place they call a pub and show out."

Alec sighs, his world-weary sigh. "So then what was the point in this, then? We're just wasting time."

"There's a proper order to these things, Alec. I thought you'd know by now. Warnings first. Then action. That's how to do things."

"If we just took action first, we'd catch them off guard—get out things back without much of a fuss," he mutters.

I halt in the Tunnel street, and the dirty, weary looking people around us glare irritably before passing by, like a river moving around a rock. "Nah, son. That's chicken shit. We don't do that. We're honorable."

"Honorable thieves," Alec sighs, his eyes flickering around the narrow, tall tunnel we stand in. A train shoots by us, the rumble of the engine filling the air. The people on the street barely notice, it's such a common occurrence.

"Look, if you aren't feeling loyal today, you might as well go home. I don't want to hear any more of this fucking attitude from you. If I wanted attitude, I'd go see me mum."

Alec sighs, but he looks vaguely abashed. "Sorry, Jace. I'm just a bit preoccupied today."

"By?" I arch my eyebrows.

"Family business," is all he says—and all he has to say.

I nod a few times, slap him on the chest and say, "Go on, then. Go deal with that. I don't need you anymore."

"You sure?" He shifts to his left, his eyes darting towards where I know his apartment is—the apartment he shares with Izzy and Max. Whatever's going on must be weighing heavy.

"Yeah," I reply, shrugging easily. "I'm just running some errands and heading down to the pub for a drink 'fore I go home."

"Okay," Alec says, nodding once. "Thanks, m—"

Then he breaks off his, eyes fastened on something over my shoulder. I turn, expecting to see someone wanting trouble, but I don't find that at all.

There, down Ware Street, I see a flash of red hair and a ratty green coat standing by some vendor crying out the marvels of his filet knives.

My jaw clenches. "Bloody hell," I mutter.

Alec sounds a little smug as he says, "Better watch out, Jace. She'll be your shadow soon. She's getting of that age."

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" I snap, glaring back at him.

He shrugs, backing away, towards his home and his own problems. He's actually smirking a bit. "She's of that age when all girls fall in love with you."  
"Piss off," is all I growl in response before I'm marching towards her, irritation welling up inside me, purpose in my stride.

* * *

**_Clary_**

"What do you think you're doing here?" comes a low and quick voice behind me, making me jump with guilt.

I turn towards Jace, tilting my head back so I can see his glowering expression. There's a fresh cut on his cheekbone, oozing blood, and I see his knuckles are red and busted open. Which explains why he wasn't at the pub when I visited, and why no one was talking when I asked him where he was.

His face is livid, and I cringe back a bit. "I just…"

"Don't you listen at all?" he demands.

"I was hungry," I manage to say.

"I know the orphanage is a shit place, but they _do_ feed you, Clary," he mutters, his eyes darting left and right once, to all the people pressed together in the narrow side street off the Main Tunnel. It's busy now because its midday and everyone is buying lunch. The air reeks of bodies and life and food as the endless stream of Tunnelers pour in.

"You know the food is awful, Jace," I say, a little whine in my voice. I hold up a shinny red apple and say, "I just wanted fruit. You can't get fruit in the District unless you have a lot of Coins."

"You can't get fruit down here, either, without a decent amount of Coin—which means the likelihood of you pinching that is great," he growls, his brows pulling low over his eyes. "You just figure it's easier to steal down here than up there."

It's true. I don't dare steal in the District itself. Punishment for that is much harsher.

But "I'm sorry," is all I know to say.

Jace glares down at me a minute longer before sighing, exhaling out all his anger. "It's all right."

"I tried to find you—earlier—I swear I did," I murmur quietly.

"I _said_ it's all right," he reiterates, glancing about us, always on alert. "Right. Now, I've got some errands to run. You wanna tag along? You've got to stay out of my way, though."

"I will!" I exclaim, excited immediately by the prospect.

"No talking," he warns, looking down at me and squinting his eyes in seriousness. "No hanging on my heels, tripping me up, either."

"I won't."

"No lolly-gagging. I don't want to loose track of you, all right?"

"All right," I say, nodding rapidly.

"I'm not babysitting."

"Okay."

"And if you get bored, you aren't going to nag me, right?"

"Right."

Jace stares down at me a moment longer, his face etched into tentative order. But then he breaks out into my beloved grin, his eyes crinkling, his white teeth flashing. "Come on, then. We'll have a good time of it."

* * *

"I thought we'd do something interesting," I mumble, kicking a can, watching as it skitters out in front of us.

"You don't find picking up laundry interesting?" he asks around a grin, his arms loaded down with his freshly cleaned clothes. "Maybe you'd find carrying these things a bit more thrilling."

I huff as he dumps them into my hold.

"Now, then." He places his hands on his hips and glances to the left and right of the street. "On to the diner to get my food."

"Jace," I sigh.

"I said no nagging," he warns, but he's smirking as he begins his walk. I hang back a bit so I can watch him move, because despite my irritation, I've always enjoyed watching him walk. He has a sort of strut, no matter where he's going. He walks quickly but with a slow confidence, nonetheless. His shoulders lilt from side to side, there's a spring in each step he takes, and his arms swing loosely.

I try to imitate his walk from time to time, but it feels weird on me. And I'm a girl. I don't think girls should walk like that. Maybe I should walk more like that blond waitress in the pub I see the boys looking at. I've seen Jace looking at her.

As I ponder this, I'm not watching where I'm going, and I ram right into Jace's back because he's stopped in the middle of the street.

I totter backwards, almost drop his things. "What is it?" I demand, glaring at the back of his head.

Jace isn't listening to me, though. He's looking to the side, at a dilapidated storefront. Most of the old metal-and-stone built buildings on this street are brightly lit and well traversed, so this one stands out sorely with its quiet activity, its blacked out windows. There's a rickety sign hanging crookedly from the second level of the narrow shop, and it reads, Madame Dorothea's with a bunch of painted stars and strange-looking eyes on it.

"What's that?" I ask Jace.

"Stay here," he orders and then goes over towards the place. But he jerks to a halt, glances back at me, looks torn. "Can't just leave you out here, can I?" He rolls his head once, shoving his hands into his zip-up's pockets. "All right, then. Come on. But I don't want you speaking to anyone. Understand?"

I feel the touch of apprehension on my neck, and I say, "Yeah. But can't I just stay out here?"

"Too dangerous," he replies, glancing carefully about the street. It's not very crowded here, only five or six other people milling about.

"It is not—" I begin.

Jace silences me with a look. "Come on, Clary. You're not going to be number nine on the killer's list."

I shiver, but Jace is already marching purposefully towards the store. I hang back, hesitant still, and he notices, peeping over his shoulder and calling out, irritably, "Get moving."

So I sigh and follow him in, because even in the scariest places in the world, I'd feel safe with Jace.

* * *

**So I'm having so much fun writing this. Y'all don't even know. I don't know why, but I'm just really getting a ton of enjoyment out of this. SO, I'd really, REALLY like to hear y'all's reviews on it, too...you know, so I'd get even more enjoyment. (Hint, hint). I can see on my traffic graph thingie ma-bob that quite a few people are reading it...but only a few people (people that I love, by the way, that have supported me so) are commenting on it. **

**This hurts me, y'all. It cuts me...DEEP.**

**I'm not calling anyone out, I just want to gently remind y'all that I do not bite. I respond to all my reviews. And y'all would just really make my day if you let me know how you're feeling. **

**When I first found fanfiction (way before I made an account and started writing on here), I always saw the A/N's from people begging for reviews, and I was just like...ugh. Stop. Just STOP. And now, I have become that person I swore I wouldn't be! Just look at me! Pleading for reviews! Sigh. Anyway, I've found they really are important. I enjoy getting to know the people taking time out of their day to read my stuff.**

**Super long A/N over. I apologize for my annoying-ness. Just in a chatty (write-y?) mood today!**

**Oh, wait. PSYCH! Super long A/N NOT over yet. I wanted to apologize for all the typos in my story so far. I don't have a beta person thingie. I'm not sure I want one. I'm kind of on the rocks about it, actually. So until I decide (because someone graciously offered to be my beta), there are many typos. I was reading over my previously posted stuff a few minutes ago and... CRINGE. My typos literally make me blush with embarrassment. Murder instead of murderER is just sad. So sorry.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry I've been MIA for a while. I've been so busy. SO BUSY. Y'all don't even know. And probably don't care, either (which is totally fine because y'all don't even know me and I probably wouldn't care either so...). ANYWAY, enjoy this. It'll be the only update for a while because I'm promptly going to pass out after posting this. Ignore any glaring typos, please. I apologize in advance for those annoying things. I'm just...really out of it. To let y'all know how out of it I have been, this morning, I put my deodorant on OVER my shirt. **

**Sigh.**

**Now I'm going to say that phrase that is becoming rapidly overused and is horribly stupid but actually applicable in this situation: The struggle is real.**

**Anyway, enjoy (:**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

**_Clary_**

It's like a spice cabinet, the way it smells in here. Deep and rich. My nose itches with the herbs and smoke in the air, and my eyes wander over the empty front room, with its abandoned desk and broken chairs and fallen-in chandelier. It's dilapidated, in tones of gray, like the color has been sucked out of a once sparkling room. I imagine drawing it in pencil, blurring lines, shading heavily.

Jace glances around once, his body tense, but his voice is easy as he calls out, "Hello?"

Only a few seconds later, a thick bead curtain parts from behind the desk and out comes a young girl with neat brown braids and silken scarves and tinkling gold jewelry, her loud dress printed with swirling paisleys. Her brown eyes seem huge in her small, lovely face. "Can I help you?" she inquires quietly, tilting her head back and forth in a strange manner.

Jace eyes her for a moment, with a little bit of weariness on his face, before he says, "Yeah. I'm looking 'round for Madame Dorothea."

"She doesn't see people," is the girl's immediate response, her voice tin and mechanic. Her eyes roam over the room, never quite focusing.

I feel goosebumps rise on my arms, and my gaze flickers over to Jace, judging his reaction.

He nods once, slowly, his eyes narrowing just slightly at her. "Oh. Perhaps she can make an exception."

The girl shakes her head quickly.

"Let me put it another way, then," Jace says, coolly, but there's a tone to his voice that makes the girl fidget. "You _make_ Madame Dorothea make an exception."

"I can't," she says.

"Then maybe I can. Come on, Clary," he says and begins walking towards the rickety-looking staircase in the corner of the dull room.

But the small curvy girl is suddenly in front of him, her eyes wide. "No, you can't! You aren't a member."

"Then make me one and get out of my fucking way," he replies, measured, but with a serious note of threat hovering underneath. He looks down at the girl, who suddenly seems very tiny, indeed.

But she doesn't seem to notice. "I can't. You're not a member, and you cannot go up."

"You're starting to wear on my patience, and I am not the charming friend you see before you when I'm narked. So I'll give you one more chance—move." Jace tilts his head down to her, locking their eyes. "Or I'm making you."

I hang back, twisting my fingers together as I watch the girl swallow, almost painfully, and she blinks. Suddenly, she seems to notice Jace's size advantage, and she shrinks back.

"Fine," she whispers hollowly, stepping aside. "But don't let them know I let you go up."

"All right, then. Much obliged to you." Jace peeps over his shoulder, jerks his chin at me. "Hurry up."

So I scurry behind him, climbing up the groaning steps to the second level, where there is smoke hanging in the hallway like fog, strong smelling and thick.

I cough.

"Jesus," Jace mutters, fanning his face as we ease forward.

There are rooms on either side of us, each with their own number on the door. Strange sounds come out from behind them—dreamy music and moans and low chants. Everything blurs together in a muted haze.

Jace pauses outside a purple door marked 293 and slams his fist on it repeatedly until it swings open, exposing a girl that remarkably favors the one downstairs, except the girl before us now has her hair out in wild curls.

"Can I help you?" she demands, a cloud of smoke billowing out from the room.

Jace's nose crinkles. "I bloody well hope so. I'm looking for Madame Dorothea—have a powerful need to speak with her. Immediately."

The girl stares at him for a moment, sizing him up, before she snorts. "Yeah, take a number." She goes to slam the door.

Jace's foot smoothly falls in the threshold, and the door hits against it but can't shut. He sighs. "That hurts, you know. Don't really think people realize that. But you can't argue with results." Jace's hand is suddenly on the door and he shoves back, roughly, causing the girl to be pushed back.

She gasps, indignant, but Jace's voice is calm as he says, "I'm going to only ask this once. May I see Madame Dorothea? Just let me see her, and then we'll be on our merry way."

The girl's eyes narrow in annoyance. "Madame Dorothea does _not_ see—"

The door cracks open a little more, and I see a young man standing behind the girl, opening the door wider. He's tall and lean with dark shaggy hair and a mellow expression on his face that belies some nerves.

When Jace's eyes widen and he speaks, I see why the boy is nervous.

"Jordan. What're you doing here?" he demands.

Thee boy, Jordan, shifts. "I…I, ehm, this is Maia." He points down at curvy girl's head, as if this explains everything.

Jace's eyebrows arch. "You're girlfriend is one of Dorothea's prostitutes?"

Everything happens in a blur then, mostly because I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that I am standing in some sort of brothel, and I didn't even realize it before.

Jordan is shaking his head, and Maia is exploding onto Jace, telling him of how she is not a prostitute but a spiritual companion, something he would not understand due to his complete lack of intelligence, and how she doesn't belong to Dorothea, either.

Then Jace is interrupting, holding his hands up and shaking his head. "Look, I don't care what you are. Doesn't rightly matter to me, now does it? Doesn't matter what you do in your off time, either, Jordan—so long as it doesn't effect your duties. Actually, it might come in handy. Let me see Dorothea."

Jordan chews on his index fingernail for a moment. "Ah, no, mate. Can't do that. Nobody sees Dorothea, not even the oldest patrons. She's a proper hermit, lives up at the top of the building so no one bothers her."

"She doesn't see anyone, ever?" Jace asks, dully disbelieving.

"She sees some people—sometimes. She has to, to run this place," Jordan begins.

But Maia interrupts. "She can see the future. She has no need of seeing anyone unless she wants to, to converse with them. She's all knowing."

"Not bloody likely," Jace scoffs.

Maia turns dark red with rage, but Jordan's hand falls on her shoulder from his spot behind her, as if he knows of her anger without even seeing her face.

"I don't believe in that sort of thing," Jace goes on.

Maia swallows down her fury enough to say, "You're just ignorant of anything besides your world of violence."

Jace shrugs. "Don't care, but one way or another, I'm seeing that old lady." He backs up a few steps, grabs my arm, and begins hauling me back down the hall, ignoring the half-hearted protests of Jordan and Maia's bitter laughter and promise that Dorothea won't see us, anyway.

"Shouldn't we go?" I whisper to Jace as he pulls me up the steps with him.

"No fucking way. I'm here to get information, and I'll be damned if I'm leaving without it," he replies, in his utterly stubborn way, that until this point, seemed to me to be a good thing.

* * *

**_Jace_**

Don't like having Clary in a place like this.

I'm aware of every sexual moan behind the doors we pass, of every cloud of drugged smoke that filters past us.

I don't think she has any clue as to what's going on. She's innocent like that, always too wrapped up inside her own head to see anything dirty, too wrapped up inside her little dreamed up fantasy world full of blue skies and clouds and whatever other shit she thinks the world above has.

I suppose, in a way, that's a good thing—because she'd be hardened like the rest of us if she saw what really went on. She'd be tough and brutal and everything she's not now, everything she stands for in my mind.

In another way, I'm reminded of how pathetically naïve she really is. Does she even know what a prostitute is? What this place is?

No, probably not.

I sigh as I pull her up the final few steps, and we are at the top level.

It's quiet up here, and there's no hall. Only a wall with one door, unmarked and plain.

I don't hesitate to pound on it because I figure that's a decent thing to do. There's a proper order to these kinds of things. Knock first, then break down the door.

I fully expect to have to bust in the thing, but after only a brief pause, after I'm pulling my leg back to let loose on it, the door swings open.

A gargantuan woman layered in silken flaps and ropes and scarves appears, completely eclipsing the doorway. She peers at me from behind a pair of glasses and says, "No need in busting down my door." And before I can response, she says, "Come in."

The woman, who must be Dorothea, moves into her apartment, expecting us to follow, and I glance down at Clary, who is small and pale in the dirty building, chewing on her bottom lip.

I pause only for a second before entering the apartment first, my eyes scanning the narrow front hall for anything that could harm us. Then I'm walking into the parlor, with Clary trailing me, and I grimace at all the tacky posters and books and thick, dark rugs. Everything is purple and gold, cluttered, and the air smells of spices and poor hygiene.

I almost gag.

"Came to hear about the murders, did you?" Madame Dorothea inquires, falling out into a chair that's just big enough to hold her girth. Even still, some fat rolls spill over the arms of the chair. She eyes me in the dim grayish blue light filtering in from behind the thin curtains.

"You don't have to put on a show for me," I say, narrowing my eyes. "I know what you do is all a bunch of lies and tricks."

"Hm." Dorothea puts her chubby fingers together and regards me still. "Tricks perhaps, but not lies. You _are_ here for the information on the murders, yes?"

"Yeah," I reply, bristling a bit. "But I don't want you trying to convince me of your all-knowing abilities. It's bullshit."

Dorothea chuckles a little, her beady eyes dancing. "And how do you know this?"

"I've lived in the Tunnels long enough to figure it out. Know a few tricks myself. Don't put them to use though in fooling people and robbing them of their fucking sense."

"I don't rob anyone of their sense," she huffs, and her amusement is suddenly gone. "I give them a world in which things look brighter—special. If seeing the future is a talent that can exist how many other wonderful things can?"

"That's robbing someone of their sense," I argue back. "Putting blinders on them. They can't see straight. Get crushed when they finally do."

Clary, I notice, has drifted away from me, over to one of the overflowing bookshelves in the cramped room, and I snap, "Clary," and she scurried back to my side. I don't trust this place. There could be anything lurking about.

Dorothea watches as Clary moves back towards me with curiosity gleaming in her eyes, and I don't like it so I say, loudly, "Why don't you go ahead and come out with what you saw the other night."

Dorothea purses her wrinkly lips, debating for a heartbeat or two before saying, "How about some tea?"

"No," I say.

"What about you, little girl?" she inquires of Clary.

"No," I repeat, giving Clary a look.

She sighs, petulant.

"Does he always speak for you, little one?" Dorothea asks in a sweet tone that makes my blood boil.

"Look," I cut in. "I'm not here for tea. And she isn't, either. The fact of the matter is, I don't trust your tea. God knows what kind of stuff you have in it. So just tell me what you saw and we'll leave you be to you and your cult."

Dorothea gives a disapproving glare. "My cult?"

"That's right. That's what this is." I motion around us. "You steal girls off the street and make them into your own little business."

"I help those girls."

"Oh, yeah, by making them service whatever bloke comes in here. You're a real saint, aren't you?"

"This is not a brothel," Dorothea scoffs, puffing her giant chest up a bit. "If you want a whorehouse, go down Cycle Street and there are dozens. This is a place where I take care of people. I free their minds. I take in the girls and they are allowed to have spiritual connections with the men that come here."

"All for a price."

"Just because I make some money doesn't mean they don't, too. And the best reward of all is the peace within."

I can't help it. I laugh. "Whatever you say. But enough of your yammer. I want to know about the murders."

Dorothea glares. "You aren't exactly charming me into telling you now, are you?"

"I don't have the time to charm you at the moment, nor the inclination. So I suppose I can always rely on good old-fashioned violence to get my way. Or you can just tell me. It's your choice." I shrug.

I feel Clary's wide eyes on me, but I don't look away from Dorothea as she rolls her eyes and asks, "You wouldn't hit a woman, would you?"

"You're hardly a woman. More like a crook."

Dorothea rolls her eyes and settles back further into her chair, so far I wonder if she'll be able to get out again. "I'm only talking to you because you know Magnus. He's assured me before that you are quite something. I was a bit curious, I must admit, to see the twenty-two year old that took over a club—a first in Tunnel history."

I nod impatiently. "Yes, yes. I'd rather not go over my long and illustrious lists of accomplishments, now, though. Perhaps another time."

Dorothea smirks. "Magnus also warned me about your arrogance."

"Something he says I need to work on. I'm not so sure myself."

She chuckles once before jerking her chins towards Clary. "That your sister? Or your lover?"

For some reason, I feel heat touch my cheeks—the first time in ten or so years—and I'm taken aback by it. "No!" I blurt, furious at my embarrassment.

"Not your sister? Or not your lover?" Dorothea asks, her lips barley being restrained from a full-out grin.

"Neither! She's like a sister to me, but we aren't related." I shove my hands in my pockets, agitated, and glance over to Clary, who has her head tilted back as she studies the ceiling. She's missed the whole exchange, of course.

"Now enough about me," I grind out, glaring back at Dorothea. "I want to know—"

"Yes, I know. You've only said it ten times now. You want to know about the murders. Well, the fact of the matter is—I can't tell you." She laces her fingers together and rests them on her protruding gut.

"Can't tell me?" I demand. "Or won't?"

"I can't tell you because I don't know anything. I wouldn't tell you, even if I did. I'm not entirely sure I like you."

"It's not a matter of like or dislike at all. I'll pay you for any information you may have, and it's all business," I mutter.

"Well, as lovely at that sounds, I don't have any information."

"But Magnus said—"

"I saw something," Dorothea says coolly. She jerks her head over to the window. "One night. Saw a girl get dragged down the alley next to this building. She screamed a few times and went quiet. Next thing I know, the cops are everywhere. Say its another murder of the Tunnel Killer—his new nickname."

"Bloody hell," I sigh, shaking my head. "A fucking nickname."

Dorothea nods once, allowing. "Anyway, I didn't see the killer. Nor did I hear him. Nor did I notice anything about that night that would give you any help at all."

"So Magnus lied to me?"

"Not entirely," she drawls, a new smirk dancing on her pudgy lips.

I feel my face go flat and hard. "Enough pissing around. I'm not in the mood."

Dorothea simply chuckles. "All right. Well, I know of someone that might know of something to do with these murders."  
"Sounds very promising."

Dorothea snorts. "My connections are good, boy. And my connection happens to be in the Court area."

My mind goes into a frenzy of possible outcomes at the thought. "What? The Court area? You're pissing in the wind."

The old woman shakes her head. "No. Go to the Court area, ask for my friend Seelie, and there, you might find what you are after." And then she holds out a fat hand, waiting.

I grumble but dig in my pocket, find a few Coins, and toss them to her. She catches them all, greedily, and gazes down at them. "You're help has been remarkably _un_helpful," I announce.

"You might not say that when you go to the Court," is her only response.

I just roll my eyes, irritated, my skin itchy and my nose burning with the smoke as I grab Clary's arm and say, "Come on, then," and swiftly remove her from this disgusting place, hoping she isn't left soiled by the experience.

* * *

**REVIEW! Oh, please, REVIEW! (:**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Just a warning! This is a character development chapter. No plot stuff will be dealt with here. So if you don't care so much about the development, just skip over this one. The great thing about being on fanfiction is that you can write these long stories in which you can develop your characters more because you don't have an editor or someone telling you things like this slow down the plot (which they do, but sometimes, I like to just deal with the characters). So if you have a problem with it, just don't read this one please (:**

**And I just realized this is an odd number chapter, and I won't be updating again tonight... so UGH! I HATE odd chapters! At least 7 is a lucky number.**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**_Clary_**

"You're trying to solve the murders?" I ask as Jace pulls along the Main Tunnel. A train roars by us, screeching and smoking and leaving the air smelling of soot. It crinkles my nose and darkens the air around us as we march down the rapidly emptying street.

"Yeah," is Jace's quick reply, his eyes darting about. We're out late tonight. The only people out in the Tunnels now are up to no good, and he knows it.

I stick close to him. "Why?"

"Cops can't do it. They're bloody terrible."

"But why do you care?"

"The more murders there are, the more cops get sent down here—the less likely it is that business gets done. Can't have that. Also can't have someone I know getting killed on me by some raging lunatic," Jace replies brusquely.

I smile a little. "You're trying to help."

"Myself, yeah."

"No, you're helping the community," I announce.

Jace just snorts, rolls his eyes, mutters something under his breath.

Then, as we cut down Polar Street, I realize something. "Wait," I murmur, glancing around the street, at the tiny apartments that line both sides. "We're not going towards the District Metro."

"That's because it's too late for you to come home, riding the metro without me. And I'm too tired to ride on it with you all the way to the District and then all the way back. It's too much of a pain. So you'll just stay with me tonight. Got a problem with it?" he inquires, looking down at me with an arch of his brows and smile playing along his lips.

"No," I answer immediately.

Jace ruffles my hair with a tiny grin, and we keep going, headed straight for his apartment.

* * *

It looks the same as it always does.

Super small and cramped, as all Polar Street apartments are, but the size seems even more obvious with all of Jace's things. He has books everywhere, lined in the cubbies in the wall, hidden behind the bathroom screen, tucked underneath the few chairs he has, overflowing on the table, stacked precariously on the tiny TV. The only place devoid of the clutter is the kitchen in the corner, which is absolutely barren.

Everything has its place and a certain order to it.

Nothing is messy, only cluttered. Nothing is chaotic. It's all controlled, in neat stacks and piles.

It's gray and dull in here, with only a few florescent lights to give illumination, filling the space with a buzzing, harsh glare. Jace hasn't taken the time to put any thought or color scheme into the place, mostly because he doesn't spend much time here, I assume.

"You tired?" he inquires as he kicks the door shut behind us, bolts the lock.

"No," I reply, hugging my arms around my waist and casting my eyes up the loft. The loft he added to give himself more space, to store all his books. He likes to read. He always has. But what he likes to do even more is collect. He collects everything and stores it away, can't get rid of it. Like a pack rat of the most extreme kind.

I've never asked him why. It's just the way he is.

"You hungry, then?" he asks, slipping past me in the constricted space, easing into the kitchen. "I think I have some potato salad." He cracks open the tiny icebox, finds a container and sniffs from it. His nose crinkles. "Never mind."

I drift over into the living area, craning my neck around to see the new books he's added—nothing I've ever read. Never been much for reading, myself. I prefer to draw worlds rather than read about them.

"Do you want me to go get something from Hodge? I'm sure he's got something. Always does."

"No, I'm fine," I say. "I had that apple earlier, remember?"

Jace grins, his eyes dancing in that lovely boyish way I can never seem to capture on paper. "I remember. The one you pinched." He reaches down to his pull over and yanks it off. As he does so, his t-shirt underneath rides up, and I can see the sharp cut of his stomach muscles flexing as he moves.

I feel a little warm all of a sudden, so I look away from him, to the books again, because I'm not sure how to act.

"An apple isn't that much, though, Clary. You eating enough?"

"Yeah," I say, picking up a red, thick book that has golden swirls on its cover. I trace them with my finger.

"You look awful thin."

"You always say that."

"'Cause it's always true." Jace hangs up his pull over and drifts over to me, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's no trouble to go get something from Hodge."

"If it's going to bother you, go on then."

Jace rolls his eyes. "Now you tell me. Already took off my coat."

"Well, you kept on," I retort.

He just chuckles and grabs the pull over again, jerking it on. "Be right back. Don't answer the door to anyone. I got a key."

"Okay," I say, and then he's gone, off to his next-door neighbor, an old man that fancies cooking.

I drift over to peep behind the bedroom screen into the small little alcove, just large enough for a twin mattress. Jace has it stuffed in the space, right below the only window in the apartment. The metal blinds let in dirty yellow streetlamp light over the messy bed sheets and the three books scattered among them.

I smile a little, pick up his pillow, press my face into it. His smell is strong, of course, and I can't get enough of it.

Until I hear the key in the lock, and I quickly toss it back down, yanking the privacy screen shut again and walking back into the living area just in time for Jace to arrive, his arms loaded down with more bowls than I can count.

I look at him in question.

He just grins over at me. "I should tell Hodge you're over more often."

* * *

"Did you enjoy it?" he asks, picking up the remaining bowls and heading into the kitchen.

My stomach is full and straining, unsure. It's not used to so much good food. "Yeah, I did."

"Good."

"Did you?"

Jace bends down in the kitchen to store the leftovers in the icebox. "I did."

"I think maybe you wanted to go to Hodge's 'cause _you_ wanted food," I say with a tiny smile, pulling my legs up to my chest.

"Lies!" he announces, out of my view.

I shake my head ruefully. "Sure."

Jace messes around in the kitchen for a few more minutes before reappearing and clasping his hands together. "All right, then. You want the bed? It's terribly late."

"Do I want the bed?" I ask in confusion, my brows pulling together as I gaze up at him. "What do you mean? We both sleep in the bed."

"Yes, well…" Jace scratches the back of his head roughly. "I just thought it's a bit too small for both of us. You're getting bigger."

"Are you calling me fat?" I huff.

"No!" Jace looks alarmed. "No, of course not. Don't be silly. I just meant that you're, ehm…taller."

"No, I'm not. I'm still five feet—same as I have been for two years now. I think that's as tall as I'll ever get. Do you?"

"Haven't the slightest," Jace remarks, shrugging. "But the point is, I thought I'd let you have the bed."

"Where will you sleep?" I demand, motioning to the overstuffed room. There's a couch, but it's hardly long enough to accommodate Jace's six-foot-something height. The very image of him trying to stuff himself into such a small space almost makes me laugh. "You're being ridiculous."

"Well…I just…I thought—" Jace breaks off with a sigh, shaking his head, something dawning in his eyes. "Yeah, you're right."

"Then why'd you suggest it?"

"Someone just said something to me earlier today," he says vaguely. "Doesn't matter, though. Go on. Get laid down. I'll be there soon. Going to read a page or two 'fore I go."

I nod and get up, carefully taking my shoes off and setting them to the side before I tiptoe over to the screen and jerk it open. I climb carefully into the bed, slipping under the mess of covers, laying my head down on the pillow, facing out towards Jace.

I watch as he falls out into a chair and props his feet up, cracking open a book in front of his face. He goes silent as he reads, and I go silent as I gaze on him.

It's comforting, knowing he's here. I wish I didn't have to go back to the orphanage at all, that I could stay with him, be with him like we used to always be together when he still lived there.

But I know he's got his new role to play, a role that doesn't lend much room to me, sadly enough.

So I just take comfort in knowing he's here now, that I have this now, and I'm soon falling asleep.

* * *

**_Jace_**

**_(11 Years Ago)_**

"Got this off of him. He didn't even realize it, dumb bastard," I say, holding up the coin for Simon's inspection.

Simon's eyes go wide behind his glasses. "Did you really? That's a 29th District coin, though. What's the use in it?"

"There is none, except the advancement of my skills," I tout, shoving the coin back into my pocket. "And the growing collection of my District coins."

Simon's eyes narrow a bit. "You don't _have_ a collection of District coins."

"Do now," I explain, shrugging.

He just sighs and turns his head back into whatever book he's reading. I'm too keyed up to read, though. Stealing is exciting, I decide. I like it. I'm glad Robert taught me how. I'm getting pretty good, too.

My eyes roam over the cafeteria filled with dull looking kids, and for once, I haven't joined them in their misery. I'm beginning to see a life beyond this dump—one where I can do what I want, when I want. No more being bossed around. Can't stand it.

And then, my gaze falls on someone else who doesn't look miserable—or not quite as mind numbingly miserable as the rest of the lot.

It's a little girl, very little. Pale skin, red hair, and huge green eyes, like big emeralds set in her eye sockets. She wears a flared out green coat and a huge ribbon in her hair, and she looks a whole lot richer than any of us.

Imogen is leading her in, her eyes hard and scanning the group of us with distaste. She mutters something to the little girl, who is eyeing the place…curiously? No. It can't be _curiosity_.

She's obviously new here, but every other kid that's come in here before her as looked as equally terrified and depressed as one can manage in the same expression.

She doesn't look either.

Maybe a bit sad, underneath, but she's mostly strangely wondering as she glances about the room, taking stock of everything.

Her eyes meet mine and go wide. She tilts her head to the left, studying me, and for some reason, I feel trapped in her gaze. And intimidated.

Intimidated by a girl that doesn't even come up to my chest!

I huff in irritation and look away.

But a few minutes later, I look back, unable to help myself. Her eyes are still on me, despite Imogen's motioning hands, pointing to all the things the little girl needs to learn. She just keeps staring on at me, and Imogen suddenly notices her lack of attention and snaps at her. But the little girl ignores her.

Or maybe doesn't even hear her.

What a strange creature.

I like that she doesn't seem frightened of Imogen, though, that she doesn't seem frightened of this room and the ruckus inside it, so I offer a small smile at her.

She ducks her head shyly, which makes me like her even more. She's so small. And fragile looking.

_She doesn't belong here_, I think.

* * *

"Who's this?" I ask Imogen after I've eaten my lunch and drifted over. I point to the tiny girl.

"This is Clarissa Fray," Imogen snaps. She glares down at me, her hatred obvious. "Why don't you take over showing her the rest of the place? I've other things to attend to." And before I can respond, Imogen takes off, leaving the tiny thing with me.

I look down at her a little uncomfortably. "Hallo. I'm Jace Wayland."

She's staring again, straight up at me, her big eyes slightly intrusive.

I feel itchy under her gaze. "Ehm…what all's Old Imogen showed you?"

She's silent.

"Can you speak?" I demand. "Or are you mute?"

This time, she responds—just not in words. She simply shakes her head.

"Just not feeling particularly chatty, huh?" I inquire. "That's fine, I suppose. Can't stand a blabber mouth myself. Why don't I just show you the roof first? You'll like it up there—can see the whole District near bout."

She doesn't object so I take her silence as a yes and lead her up to the roof. As promised, the view is expansive. You can almost see the end of the cavern we're trapped in, but not quite, due to all the steam and smog rising from our fair city.

"What'd you think?" I inquire, glancing down at the little girl.

She's staring out with these huge, disk-like eyes, her lips parting in what appears to be wonder. Though I'm not sure what she's all so wondering about. It looks horribly ugly out there.

"How old are you?" I ask, thinking perhaps she's very young and therefore easily excited by simple things.

She holds up a little hand timidly, displaying five fingers.

"Five, hm? Well, that explains it, then." I nod, shove my hands into my pockets. And then I feel the coin I've lifted and I think she might be fascinated by that, too. She's rather cute when she's surprised, so I dig the coin out of my pocket and squat down in front of her, so I'm a bit shorter than her but still able to meet her eyes. "Take a look at this."

She gently takes the coin from me and stares down at it, her chin buried in her coat.

"That's a coin from the 29th District. Just lifted it off a loud old bloke that wouldn't stop going on about his riches back in the 29th District. Figured if he were so well off, he sure wouldn't mind one little coin going missing. Don't tell Imogen, though. She'd be narked at me for sure."

The little girl peeps up at me, and there's a tiny smile on her lips. And though she looks rather angelic, there's a little bit of the devil in her eyes.

I grin a little. "Maybe I'll teach you a few things about lifting stuff. Would you like that, Clarissa?" I inquire, taking the coin back from her.

She nods once, and then I stand up, turn back towards the door to the orphanage, fully expecting that to be all of Clarissa's response when I hear a quiet, "Clary."

I freeze for a moment, glance back over my shoulder at her. "Clary's what you preferred to be called, then is it?"

She nods quickly, sticking her hands into her coat pocket like I have mine.

I beam a bit. "All right, then. It's a pleasure to meet you, Clary."

* * *

**_Clary_**

**_(Present)_**

I gasp a little, jarred awake by the movement.

"Shhhh," comes a familiar, instantly comforting voice out of the darkness of the apartment. I feel Jace's fingers smooth over my temple briefly. "Just me, Clary."

I instantly relax, feeling the bed dip as Jace gets comfortable beside me in the small bed. I'm turned towards the window, towards the dirty yellow light pouring in from the slats in the blinds. And I don't like that color or the way it makes me feel so I turn towards Jace instead.

And I do what I've always done when he sleeps with me.

I curl into his side, press my face into his chest, wrap my feet around his leg. But it feels different tonight than it used to.

I'm aware of things I never have been before.

Or perhaps, I've been aware of them, they've just never affected me in this way.

His scent fills my nose, spicy and masculine, and his body heat radiates all over me. There's a comfort in knowing he's here, yes, but there's also a strange excitement that my body seems to feel but my mind does not understand.

Jace is a little stiff, so I wonder if he feels it, too. But before I can ask him, he sighs, exhaling all tension from his body, and his arm wraps around my shoulders, as it always has. He brushes my hair gently.

I close my eyes, try to make this funny feeling go away, and eventually, it does. My heart rate slows and the electric feeling on my skin fades, and then it's just me and him, as it always has been.

* * *

**Comments please! (: I'm really tired so I'm not responding to the reviews and PM's tonight, but I promise I will catch up with everyone tomorrow! So sorry!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: HEY, y'all! Nothing much to report, except I'm sorry it's been a while! Sadness!**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**_Clary_**

"Where have you been all night?" Aline demands as soon as I've climbed through the window.

I shake off the cold and look over at her a bit guiltily. "In the Tunnels."

"With Jace," she sniffs, the corners of her mouth turning down. "All night?"

"Yes," I reply, shutting the window behind me and pulling off my coat. I go to my closet in search for my school uniform.

"Did you sleep with him?" she asks, a surprising about of disbelief in her voice.

"Yeah," I say, frowning and looking back at her in confusion.

"Clary!" she explodes, her glasses getting knocked askew on her nose as she hastens to stand up from her bed. "You slept with him?"

"Yeah," I repeat, my voice quavering a bit because she seems to be asking something different than what I'm seeing.

"So you actually…he actually…" Aline is getting hung up. Her cheeks are red as her eyes skitter around our empty room. "He actually…" She pauses to make a motion with her hands, the index finger of her right going through a circle made with her left.

I don't understand her at all. "What?" I ask quietly, my frown deepening.

"Clary, you can't tell me you don't know what sex is."

My cheeks burst into flames, and I look everywhere but her. "Of course I do," I mutter, turning into my closet again, hiding my burnt up face. "It's what makes babies."

Aline's groan is loud. "Is that _all_ you know about it?"

I fiddle with the sleeve of my uniform, poking my finger through a hole that has formed in the elbow.

"Clary, that's awful. How do you not know anything about it?"

"Dunno," I say, embarrassed. "Never paid much attention in Health Class."

"That's because you're always doodling—always drawing those silly little pictures when you should be learning," Aline announces.

At this, I feel the stirrings of warm anger on my shoulders, and I turn to her, a glare almost on my face. "They aren't silly little pictures, Aline!"

Her eyebrows arch in surprise at my outburst, but she quickly schools her features back into their usual condescending expression. "Look, the point is that you can be taken advantage of, Clary. You might already have been."

"Jace wouldn't take advantage of me," I say, crossing my arms over my chest tightly, looking down at the floor.

"So he didn't touch you?"

"He touched my forehead," I murmur, thinking back. "And my arm."

"That's it?" she asks, a little disbelievingly.

"Yeah."

"Oh."

I peep back up at her and bring my index finger to my mouth, chewing on the nail. "Sex is more than that, right?"

"Yeah," she replies, her cheeks turning pink in her own embarrassment. Embarrassment at being wrong, of course—because it doesn't happen often.

"What is it?"

"I'm not telling you that," she huffs. "You should've paid attention in Health." And with that, she gathers her satchel and leaves our room swiftly, heading to the downstairs school to begin our mind numbingly boring day.

* * *

**_Jace_**

I push open the doors of the pub and strut in, headed straight for our table at the back.

Once I've taken my seat and been greeted by the boys in usual fashion, Alec looks over at me, his blue eyes as serious as always in the dim light of the bar.

"Mornin', mate," I say, finding myself a cigarette and lighting it. I take a deep inhale from it. "You got all your family troubles squared away?"

"There's been another murder."

I freeze for a minute. "Number nine?"

"Nine and ten, actually. Two killed this time," he says, looking around the bar suspiciously, as if he suspects any one of the blokes to be the murderer. "Got a cop informant on the squad. She tells me that it looks like the murderer was killing the one girl and a homeless man walked up on it—so he killed him, too. Poor bastard saw too much."

"Wrong place, wrong time," I agree, shaking my head. "Fuck. This is getting more serious. Ten murders in this amount of time? Unheard of."

"You got that right. We're dealing with a real lunatic, I'd say." Alec takes a drag off his own cigarette, his nostrils flaring. "Did you find any information from Magnus?"

"Just some horse piss about Madame Dorothea knowing something. So I went and talked to her. She swears up and down to me that a girl named Seelie knows something."

"Seelie in Court?"

"Yeah. You know her?"

"Yeah, 'fraid I do. She's a sly one," Alec sighs, shaking his head. "She'll have you selling your soul over for information without you even knowing it. I'd better go with you."

"Oh, ye of little faith my friend. I'm not completely daft. I can handle myself, you know," I say.

"Don't be arrogant, Jace," Alec grumbles. "Let someone go with you that has a modicum of sense so you don't end up in a bad way."

"Fine," I reply, blowing out a cloud of smoke slowly, thoughtfully. "We'll go later tonight, when the court gets into full swing."

"Of course we will," is Alec's only response.

* * *

**_Clary_**

I wash my hands in the cold water spurting from the rusty faucet. I shiver slightly and peep up into the dirty mirror at my reflection.

Dim light spills into the bathrooms from the grit-covered windows at the top of the block walls. It's ugly in here, and the fluorescents don't work anymore, along with half the toilets.

I wish to paint the walls, to at least give us girls something decent to look at when we come in here, but they'd never let me. They don't like creativity much.

I stare at my pale face with a little pucker between my brows. I don't like school, don't want to go back to my classroom. It's boring. The teacher drones on and on in a monotone, and the room is gray and dull. I can't stand it, really. It's pure misery, and I wouldn't go if they'd let me stay in the orphanage without attending classes.

I sigh and dry my hands on my skirt, shuffling back out into the hall.

"Clary."

I gasp, my heart leaping into my throat as I turn towards Sebastian and his towering height. He's as tall as Jace, I think.

"How are you, love?" he inquires, that pressed on smile appearing on his face. His eyebrows arch in question.

"G-good," I whisper, looking down at my feet briefly before glancing down the hall. It's empty and silent.

"You're sneaking out at night, huh?"

I hear my own sharp gasp echo through the hallway as my eyes snap back up to Sebastian's dark black gaze. My mouth is filled with cotton, and I can't speak.

A look of prepared concern flashes on his face. But there's something else in his voice that makes my skin crawl with worry. "A little thing like you, going out at night—all alone. That's kind of dangerous, yeah?"

I back up a few steps, clasping my hands together, my eyes darting side to side, as if hoping someone materializes. "N-not that dangerous," I manage to squeak. "Don't tell Imogen, please. She'll…she'll throw me out."

"Oh, Clary, I'd never," he vows, nodding, stepping forward the follow me. "Of course I wouldn't." He's very close now, getting closer despite how fast I am backing up. "Unless." His large hands are suddenly gripping my upper arms, slamming me firmly back against the wall, making me gasp in terror. "Unless you don't do what I want."

"Sebastian," I say through shaking lips. "What're you doing?"

This isn't happening, is it?

"Clary, I like you," Sebastian says softly, bending slightly so our eyes can be on the same level. His brow furrows in something like sympathy, but it's not sympathy at all—just a mask. "And when I like something I _want_ it. So, this is how it's going to be, right? You're going to let me do whatever I want to you, and you're not going to tell a soul—'cause if you do, I'll tell Imogen just exactly what you've been up to at night. And not just the sneaking out—the stealing, too. Which is going to land you a few years in Containment."

My breathing is quick and panicked as I try to shimmy out of his hold. "Let me go," I rush out breathlessly.

"Do we have an agreement, love?" Sebastian inquires, and his voice is hard now. His face shifts, a subtly slow change that leaves him looking frightening and monstrous, like the handsome face he normally wears has been pealed away, revealing what's underneath.

"Let me _GO_!" I scream, surprising myself. And then my heel is slamming down into his foot, making him cry out in shocked pain, and his hold on my loosens a bit.

And I'm ready to pull away, to dart down the hall and away from him as quickly as I can, when a door opens and a teacher marches out.

"What is going on out here?" he demands.

And Sebastian lets go of me completely, as if I'm on fire, and I'm running, shooting like a rocket down the hall, not waiting to hear his excuses for his behavior or his accusations against me.

I can't get away fast enough.

* * *

**Short chapter, I know! Sadness once again! Tomorrow, I will post another chapter tomorrow! (: And I will also reply to reviews tomorrow! I'm sorry I can't tonight! I'm just so sleepy!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry it's been a while! For all my wonderful people following Half Truths, it'll be sometime this next week when I update again. I apologize to everyone. I feel like I got everyone's expectations up that I was going to update every day, multiple times a day, but lately, I've been so busy. And frankly, I've not been inspired much! Anyway, enjoy this tonight! **

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE  
**

**_Clary_**

My feet take me to the pub, down in the Tunnels.

I have nowhere else to go. No one else to go _to._

I can breathe again when I'm immersed in the laughter, the darkness, the smokiness of the bar. It's all familiar. The faces I know. The Old World music playing on the jukebox, I know.

My stomach finally unclenches.

And then I remember I'm not really supposed to be here, that Jace will probably be angry, and I wonder if it's not too late to turn around and steal out the door, to just wander around on my own in the Tunnels.

"Clary!"

I freeze and sigh a little, peeping over to find Izzy with her hair piled elegantly up on her head as she totters over to me in high heeled boots. Her long, pale arms go around me immediately, her scent of roses and smoke flaring into my nostrils.

"Where have you been?" she demands as she pulls back from me, her hands holding my upper arms. She has to sort of crouch to be eye level with me. Izzy is very tall and slim, and I think drawing her would be fun. She's so pale and her hair and eyes are so dark. All contrast. "Thought you'd forsaken us down here."

"Never," I say with a tiny smile.

"Ah, that's my girl," Izzy announces, slinging her arm over my shoulder. Her silver bracelets jingle. "How's your schooling been?"

"Boring."

"I hated it myself. Been getting any boys?" she inquires, pinching my shoulder.

I flush deep dark red, the images of Sebastian flashing through my mind at rapid speed, like a picture book's pages being flipped. This cannot be a normal occurrence. This isn't how a boy should court a girl. I know that much. I've seen Jace play around at it with certain girls. He's always charming. Not scary.

"No," I lie because I don't want Izzy knowing about Sebastian. If Izzy knows, then Jace knows. And Jace would go mental. I don't want that.

"Well, give it time. Maybe if you'd pull all this shit off your face, a boy could see how pretty you are," Izzy mutters, pushing back some of my wildly frizzy red hair.

I gently pull it back around my face, hiding me, cocooning me in the faint scent of my shampoo.

"All right. Fuck you, then," Izzy sighs, tossing her own silky black strands over her shoulder. "Jace know you coming?"

"No," I say quickly, looking over at her. "Don't tell him. He doesn't like it much."

"I hate to tell you, sweetie, but he's already here. Back there in the corner. Chances of him seeing you are pretty good. Can't hide in this place," Izzy says.

And as soon as the words are out of her mouth, Jace is stalking towards me out of nowhere, a scowl on his face. He runs up until he's right on me, grabbing my arm, hauling me towards the exit of the pub.

"Are you deaf?" he growls into my ear, yanking me out of the building, into the alley. He lets go of me like I'm on fire but bends down real low so our faces are close together and his eyes are burning into mine. They are golden and swirling, and I wonder if they are what the sun looked like. I hope so. I would never stop looking at it, if it did look that. A big, hot golden orb floating in an ice blue sky? How beautiful.

"Clary! Are you listening to me?"

I jump and blink, finding Jace's livid face before mine still. "I'm sorry," I stutter.

"You _are_ deaf. It's the only explanation," he says, dragging a hand over his mouth and down his chin roughly.

"I'm sorry," I repeat, more vehemently this time. "I know you told me not to. But I just…I wanted to. I had a bad time at school today, and I—"

"Yeah, school. Shouldn't you still be there?" he asks smartly, his hands going to rest on his hips.

I twist my fingers together and look down at my rotten shoes. "Yes."

"Go back, Clary. Get some kind of education."

"Don't tell me what to do," I whisper, and the words are dropping out of my mouth like stones.

There's a stunned beat of silence from Jace, and from me.

And then he's demanding, rather shocked, "What in the bloody hell did you just say?"

"I said, don't tell me what to do," I repeat, looking up at him with a half pleading, half angered frown. "You didn't finish school! As soon as you were fifteen, you left!"

"That doesn't mean you should do what I do!" Jace cries, throwing his hands up.

"I want to do what you do," I say.

Jace groans and scrubs a hand over his face again, shaking his head and pacing back and forth once before he points at me. "Listen. I know you look up to me, Clary. But fuck. I'm the worst person in the world to look up _to_." He crouches in front of me. "Clary, I'm a criminal. And a Tunneler. I'm hardly an ideal role model."

"I don't want ideal," I tell him quietly.

"You say that but you do. You want rainbows. You want a blue sky. You want a sun and trees and grass. But that kind of shit isn't real. It might have been once, but it ain't now, yeah? And I'm not that for you, either. I'm not what you want."

My hands reach out and rest against each of his cheeks. He looks up pleadingly to me, and I look down at him the same way, begging him to understand as I say, "You're _everything_, Jace."

He sighs and shuts his eyes, his face darkening in defeat. He looks so sad, as if I've said something wrong, but I know I haven't. He needs me to need him. It's just the way it is. I need him and I think he likes that. He likes knowing he has to take care of someone, because he doesn't have anyone to take care of him and he doesn't really have anyone at all.

He needs someone.

I'll always be that someone for him.

Because he's that someone for me.

Why doesn't he understand?

"All right, Clary," Jace finally whispers, his hands going up to cover my mine for a moment before prying them away from his skin. His warm eyes open again and he stands up. "We can't talk about this now, anyway. I've got to go to Seelie with Alec. You stay put with Izzy, yeah?"

I nod silently.

"Don't get into any trouble while I'm gone."

"I won't," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," he warns. "Like you can't cause any trouble. Out of all the shit down here, you're the biggest pain in my ass, you know that?"

I just scowl down at the ground.

"Hey," Jace says, grabbing my chin, forcing my head up so our eyes can meet. "You know I love you anyway, right?"

Still unwilling to forgive him, I don't loose my scowl. But I do say, "Yeah."

"That's my girl." He kisses my forehead with a loud smack, and Alec is suddenly outside with us, drifting to Jace's side like a silent cloud of dark smoke. His eyes are alert, always Jace's bodyguard.

"Be careful," I whisper, unable to keep my anger for long.

"I always am. Ain't that right, Alec?" Jace inquires, slapping his best friend on the back.

Alec's eyes just roll.

"All right, then. Go back inside. I'll see you later tonight," Jace tells me, and then they're both moving out into the street, quickly and purposefully, and I peep around the corner of the building, watching as they go for as long as I can until the crowd and distance swallows them up.

* * *

_I sit in the dark. _

_ My anger is building, growing. Steady and sure and hot. It wants to burst free from me, to take over my hands and strangle the life out of someone. To take. To kill._

_ It craves blood._

_ I rock back and forth. I don't want to disappoint. I don't want to be a monster. But it's impossible not to be, not when they beg me to be. They whisper words into my ears, tell me I need to get up, to leave this prison and kill. For them. For the greater good._

Get up. Get up. Get up.

Kill for us.

_ That's what they whisper, over and over. _

_ It's not just them, either. I'm beginning to crave the blood myself. The power—it's delicious. Holding someone else's life in my hands? Hearing them beg for mercy, mercy that isn't mine to give? It's addictive, like the drugs polluting most of my victims._

_ They don't matter anyway._

_ Junkies and whores. Who cares about them? They're a burden to us. They're a bad name to us, to the Tunnelers. They are the cause of the separation. The distance between us and them—the District people. _

Kill.

_The voices are louder now, organized, so that it is one echo that shudders through my mind, making me writhe on the ground in fire and insanity._

_ Until I finally get up._

_ I can't disobey._

_ And I can't fight what they want._

_ What _I_ want._

* * *

**Jace**

"What the fuck you smiling about?" I demand as I shove my hands into my coat pockets as Alec and I strut down the street.

"Nothing," he announces. He stares straight ahead, that annoying curve on his lips.

I scowl. "If you don't tell me, I'm going to beat the shit outta you."

"No you ain't," Alec scoffs, bringing his cigarette to his mouth and taking a drag.

"No, I ain't," I agree, tiredly. "But I would like to know. I can give a mean cold shoulder, you know. Put most girls to shame."

Alec actually chuckles at this. "Well, you are a bit feminine at times."

"Feminine?" I demand.

"Yeah. You take more time primping than a lot of girls."

"Listen, mate. You might think being this beautiful comes naturally." I rub my jaw to demonstrate. "But it does take a bit of work—just a bit."

Alec rolls his eyes, but he laughs again. He's in a good mood tonight, despite where we're going, and it makes me rather happy. He's a lot like my old mate, now, rather than this moody version of Alec he's become as of late. "And that self-admiration in yourself is a bit like the fairer sex, also."

"Nothing feminine about having a healthy confidence in yourself," I reply, grinning.

"A healthy confidence?" Alec inquires dully, raising his eyebrows at me in doubt. "That's what you call your arrogance?"

"You best watch yourself tonight, mate. Just because you're my best man doesn't mean I won't kick the shit out of you—or at least get one good punch in." I box at him, and we dance around for a few minutes, earning the disapproving stare of an older woman. I wink at her and she gasps, pulls her coat tighter and scurries away, murmuring under her breath about the state of the Underground with boys like us running around.

"That Clary," Alec says after we've started walking towards Court again.

"Yeah? What of her?" I dig around in my coat pocket for a pack of cigarettes, pull one out, light it.

"She's got a proper crush on you."

"Horse piss," I dismiss, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

"She does. Don't be blind to it, Jace. It'll only hurt her if you lead her on."

I glare over at him, my good mood vanishing rather rapidly. "I'm not leading her own. There's nothing _to_ lead on. Why don't you mind your own fucking business, yeah, mate?"

Alec simply shakes his head, and keeps his eyes facing forward as we walk. "Your business is my business, Jace. You know that's how it works. I'm your right-hand man."

"Personal business is just that—personal. It has nothing to do with the TFS."

"As your friend," Alec interjects, a bit of exasperation in his tone, "you need to let her down easy."

"She doesn't have—"

"Jace, she's your shadow!"

"She just looks up to me, is all. I took care of her as a kid. Still do. She just loves me like a brother. And I love her like a sister. That's all there is to it. You just don't understand. You don't know the relationship like I do."

"I don't. You're right. I'm not blind to the things I don't want to see—like you are." Alec inhales deeply, a quiet, contemplative breath. "When she looks at you, Jace, it's like you're the world to her. Maybe you like that. Probably do. It's nice feeling wanted and beloved. I know that. But you can't be a fool. She's just a kid. You don't need to let her think you feel more for her than a sister."

"I never have," I growl, and then I jerk to a halt, looking over at Alec with a glare. "Now, if you're done worrying about my own life, I'd like for us to focus on the matter at hand. We're going into Court, a place not very friendly to clubs. So will you just shut up and be serious?"

Alec stares back at me passively, annoying me all the more with his lack of fear or intimidation or even anger. He's just neutral, impossible to rile up where I'm all fire, buzzing with irritation.

That's why Alec is good. That's why I need him with me. He's my balance. Without him, I'd be dead a good three times over now.

Finally, he sighs, nods, and says, "All right, Jace. All right."

* * *

**Please review! Also, I have no clue where I left off with responses to the previous reviews, so would you mind, if you have a question, repeating it? I'll answer to all reviews from here on out! I just lost track! I'm so very sorry!**


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